BAD BOYS ON BOARD Read online

  Emotions ran through him, guilt, regret … and overwhelming tenderness. He would have liked more time with her, but it appeared his time had just run out.

  Chapter Five

  "Everything okay, Sam?"

  Before turning, Sam closed his eyes and said a quick prayer that some brilliant explanation would come to him.

  His mind remained blank. "Hello Hesper." She was still in her housecoat and slippers, curlers in her hair. "What has you up so early—given you were also up late?"

  "I saw the young lady's car was still here and then your brother was pounding on the door and… Is there any way we can help?"

  "No." Sam edged toward the door, trying to block the stairs with his body before Hesper noted Ariel. "Everything is fine. Pete's just visiting, that's all."

  His efforts were in vain. The damn bulldog barked, Hesper looked up, and she spotted Ariel. "Oh my. Are you all right, sweetie? Sam told us what happened."

  Pete stepped forward, aghast at such a possibility. "Just how much did my brother tell you?"

  "Why, everything. That she's a dear family friend who he cares about and that she'd been mugged and was upset so he brought her home to make her feel safe for the night."

  Ariel choked, coughing and gasping. Pete just stared at Sam.

  A smile locked firmly in place, Sam took Hesper's arm and nudged her back out onto the porch. "Everything's fine here, Hesper, really. I promise it is. But thank you for your concern."

  "That's what neighbors are for." Regretfully, she made her way to the steps and the bulldog lumbered along in their wake. "Oh Sam?" She turned to give him a coy smile.

  "Yeah, Hesper?"

  "If Booth looked as good in his drawers as you do, I believe I'd burn all his breeches."

  Sam grinned. "Why thank you, Hesper."

  "My pleasure," she said, and then to herself as she walked away, "Indeed it is."

  Still grinning, Sam shut the door and turned to find his brother breathing fire and Ariel standing nervously beside him.

  "I thought you told her I was a prostitute."

  She sounded disappointed, and Sam shrugged, only to have Pete grab his arm and whip him around. "What's this about a prostitute?"

  "Nothing. I was only teasing Ariel."

  Pete's dark eyes, so much like their father's, narrowed with contempt. "Looks to me like you did a sight more than tease her."

  "Pete!" Ariel tried to step between the two men. They didn't let her so she settled on poking Pete with her finger. "This is none of your business, Pete Watson. Now knock it off."

  "I presume," Pete said, looking between the two of them, "that a wedding will be planned for the near future?"

  Sam almost fell on his ass. "A wedding?" Good God, surely Ariel didn't expect… He cast an appalled glance her way.

  She stared back, white-faced and mute, her mouth pinched.

  "You heard me." Pete crossed his arms, every line of his body filled with unwavering resolve. "I told you last night how Ariel felt about this sort of thing."

  Yeah, he'd known. And rather than dissuade him, the fact of her virginity had been an impossible lure. His basic nature was such that the idea of being the first—the only?—had driven him well beyond common sense, gallantry, and self-survival. He'd had to have her.

  Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah, well maybe she's changed her mind about it. Did you think of that?"

  They both turned to Ariel. At that moment, she appeared so small, so lost and alone and wounded, Sam's stomach twisted into a knot of indescribable pain. He started to reach out for her, intent only on offering comfort, but she backed away from him.

  Chin lifted, she whispered, "Maybe I have." Just a few minutes ago, she'd been playing, smiling, and prancing around naked to drive him wild. She'd looked happy, and now… Now she'd shut down, her eyes flat, empty. Sam could have thrown his brother out for ruining the pleasant, no-pressure mood she'd enjoyed before his arrival.

  They all stood frozen, uncomfortable and unsure what to say or do next; then Gil's voice intruded. "Damn, I expected to find you in bed, Sam, not holding court in the foyer."

  "Gil?" Sam turned to his brother, took in his beat-down, haggard expression and stormed forward with concern. "What's going on? I thought you were out of town."

  "I just got home." He handed Sam his briefcase and dropped back against the wall. His tie hung loose around his neck and his shirtsleeves were rolled up past his forearms. He looked fatigued, both mentally and physically. "I checked my messages and then … I dunno. I wasn't sure what to do, so I just came here."

  Pete crowded closer. "What's happened? Is something wrong with the company?"

  Ariel had backed up so far, Gil didn't even notice her. "No, the company is fine. But it seems I have a problem." He paused, looking much struck, then laughed hoarsely, without any real humor. "Well, no, that's probably not the best way to put it. Perhaps a surprise is more like it. A life-altering surprise."

  Sam's middle brother was by far the most staid of the three, serious where Pete was playful, calm where Sam was turbulent. He had a great head for business and he wasn't prone to melodrama.

  Sam was more than mildly alarmed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Gil?"

  Gil's brown eyes—so much like Pete's, identical to their father's—were bloodshot. He rubbed the back of his neck. "I got a call from a young lady who lives in Atlanta. You remember I handled some business there right after Dad passed away? Well, it seems…" He swallowed, closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. "It seems I'm a father."

  * * *

  Sam hadn't seen her for a week, though God knew it wasn't from lack of trying.

  But now, here, was not a good time to run into her.

  He'd tried calling and repeatedly got her machine. She hadn't bothered to return any of his calls. He'd even dropped by that fancy boutique where she worked, only to be told by one of her coworkers that she'd taken an impromptu vacation.

  When he couldn't find her at her apartment either, no matter how long he stood in the hallway knocking, he finally decided she really was on a vacation. Maybe she'd gone out of town. Maybe she wasn't upset. Maybe she didn't even care about how their night together had ended.

  She might well be off partying it up and having a blast—while he was smothering in guilt and worry.

  But that last look on her face had continued to eat at him. He wanted to talk to her, to make sure she was all right.

  After Gil dropped his bomb on them, Sam had been so floored he'd almost forgotten about her. The brothers had all milled to the kitchen for seats and caffeine, which was their normal routine whenever a situation arose that had to be dealt with. Sam had assumed Ariel would follow. Only she hadn't.

  He'd turned, expecting to bump into her, and her absence struck him like a sucker punch to the gut. He'd rushed back to the front door in time to see her little yellow car disappearing past the corner stop sign. She hadn't said good-bye. She hadn't said anything after letting him off the hook with that shaky, whispered, "Maybe I have."

  She'd just stood there, silent and hurt.

  Given Gil's disclosure, Pete hadn't questioned Sam too much when he'd returned to the kitchen, fallen into a chair, and announced that Ariel had gone home. Gil had looked at him funny, but Pete had said, "We'll talk about that later."

  Later hadn't arrived yet, since Sam was avoiding Pete—much like he assumed Ariel was avoiding him. Except… She'd just walked in, and again, she sat at the bar.

  This time she wore sinfully tight dark blue jeans and a flowing white blouse with a ruffle at the neck and long sleeves. She had her curls contained in a French braid and wore white sandals.

  She looked so feminine and sexy, his heart lurched at the sight of her. Other body parts followed suit.

  Because she didn't so much as glance his way, Sam couldn't see her face.

  "Hey, I saw you get your ass beat down at Freddie's." The laughing comment was accompanied by a gust of sour alcohol breat
h.

  Sam looked up into the grizzled, bearded face of an older man, maybe in his fifties, reeking of booze and ready to join him at the small round table. Damn. The last thing he needed was a real drunk that he'd have to protect. Trying to sound both slurred and surly, Sam said, "Ain't been to Freddie's."

  The guy laughed and flopped into the seat opposite Sam.

  "Sure ya have. I seen ya. Two cops came along and saved your ass, though."

  When Sam ignored him, putting all his concentration on his glass of whiskey, the man snickered.

  "You were prob'ly too drunk to remember."

  "Maybe." Sam kicked back the whiskey, suddenly needing it, appreciating the burn as it went down. Please, he thought, please don't get involved in this, Ariel. He had a hard enough time keeping her out of his head without having her close while he tried to work.

  He glanced up, so did she, but she looked through him as if not recognizing him at all, then went back to smiling and talking to the young man beside her. Sam wasn't sure whether he should be disgruntled or relieved.

  He definitely wanted to escort her out, away from the men vying for her attention and those leering at her, away from where he had a job to do. Away … to maybe someplace private where he could touch her again.

  His hands curled into fists.

  Unwilling to test her patience or his possessive nature, Sam pulled out his wallet—again well fattened with bills—and put money on the table. In the two hours he'd been sitting in the bar, he'd noted several possible suspects, but there was one man in particular he thought might bite. He'd watched Sam with a type of greedy anger that made Sam edgy. With any luck, the guy would follow Sam out, and Ariel would not.

  To the drunk who'd joined him at his small table, Sam tipped a nonexistent hat. "I gotta go while I still can."

  "Yeah, yeah sure. You be careful, now."

  Without answering, Sam stumbled toward the door, ran himself into the doorframe with a curse, then continued bumbling on until he was across the street on the opposite walk.

  Even though it was midnight, the temperature hadn't dropped much and the hot night air washed over him, making him sweat with both anticipation and disgust. Anticipation because he sensed they were close to finding an end to this particular assignment, and disgust because he was sick and tired of swilling whiskey and listening to drunken fools grouse and rumble as they wasted their money on drink.

  There were plenty of things he'd rather be doing—and most of them centered around Ariel, no matter how he tried to fight his feelings.

  He'd be damn glad to finish the paperwork on this one. Maybe then he could get his head clear.

  He was thinking of her, not paying any real attention while making his way to the designated spot where his backup would be able to see him. His mind was filled with thoughts of her stretched out on his bed, teasing him, taunting him, pushing him past his control—and then a sudden flash of movement came into his peripheral vision and Sam's reflexes took over. He ducked and took a pace to the right.

  A heavy pipe crashed into the brick wall where Sam's head would have been, chipping the wall and reverberating with a loud clang. Sam dropped and rolled, barely getting out of the way of a sharp knife blade that sliced toward him. He came up on the balls of his feet, battle ready, poised to move.

  Two of them! Not just the man who'd been watching him, but also the drunk who'd joined him at his table. Shit. A set up and he'd totally missed it. His senses went on alert and adrenaline rushed through him. He said, "You picked the wrong guy," and he laughed just to taunt them.

  Outraged, the bigger man with the pipe lunged forward. His cover was already blown, leaving no purpose to his pretense of drunkenness. Sam went on the attack.

  Eyes locked on the assailant, he judged his next move, feigned right to dodge the pipe and turned with his elbow raised, delivering a solid clip to the chin that sent the man to his knees. A boot to the belly finished the job, and the pipe fell from the man's hand with a clatter.

  Sam heard the swooshing sound too late. He jumped, but not fast enough to get completely out of the way. The lethal edge of a knife sliced through his shirt along his shoulder and across to his side, not going deep but making him grit his teeth with the awful burn. A warm flow of blood trickled down his back.

  Sam whirled, saw the bearded man had drawn back his arm to strike again, and he kicked him hard in the knee. Something broke and the man crumbled, for the moment, immobilized.

  This particular night, Fuller and Isaac were on shift with Sam again and they ran onto the scene shouting orders. "About time," Sam complained.

  Isaac cuffed the biggest of the two men. Fuller radioed for an ambulance and backup. Seeing he was no longer needed, Sam slumped forward, his hands on his knees while he sucked in air.

  The exhilarating rush of adrenaline faded, along with his normal strength. Sam felt shaky and pissed off and so damn weak his knees wanted to give out. Then he saw Ariel standing across the street and he slowly straightened, revived by a new emotion. She had her arms around herself, her bottom lip in her teeth, and her face was etched with fear.

  They stared at each other until Fuller said, "Jesus, Sam. We got here as quick as we could, but it wasn't quick enough, was it?"

  He felt Fuller's hand on his arm, dragging him down to sit on the curb. Sam's vision swam a little, making Ariel weave in and out of his sight. "Ariel?"

  Fuller looked up, saw her, and yelled, "Hey, c'mere, Miss. I need you." Then to Sam, "Just breathe, damn it. She's coming."

  Though she'd looked as still and pale as a statue up to that point, the second Fuller called her name she dashed forward. Fuller took off his shirt and folded it. "Hang on, Sam. The paramedics are on their way."

  "Yeah?" He didn't take his gaze off Ariel's rapid, wild-eyed approach. When she was near, he reached up a hand and she clutched it in both of hers. "What for? I didn't do any real damage to them. Just didn't want them creeping away."

  Fuller snorted. "They'll both be fine, minus a working bone or two, but you're bleeding like a stuck pig. The bastard got you. Jesus man, I'm sorry." He pulled up Sam's shirt, cursed again and pressed his folded shirt against the wound.

  Ariel was so silent, Sam couldn't stand it. "Sweetheart?"

  Big tears swam in her eyes and she gulped. "What?"

  "I'm amazed." He would have liked to have more conviction in his voice, but even to his own ears he sounded weak and raspy, damn it. "I didn't know you could show such considerable restraint."

  Not quite so pale now, she dropped to her knees in front of him. "What are you talking about?"

  "You didn't interfere."

  "No, of course not." She tried to pull her hand free. "Let me see your back, Sam."

  He held tight. "Fuller's taking care of it."

  "But…" Her voice shook.

  "You stood off to the side like a good civilian instead of playing my White Knight. I'm impressed, really I am."

  She frowned at him, shook her hand free and crawled behind him. "Ohmigod."

  "It looks worse than it is," Sam told her.

  "You can't even see it," she snapped back.

  Sam laughed.

  An ambulance's siren sounded in the distance, nearly drowning out Ariel as she said, with renewed calm, "You're a condescending, patronizing bastard, Sam Watson. The way you fight … well, I didn't think you needed my help. You fight dirty."

  "But despite all that, you love me anyway?" He waited, breath held, his heart aching much worse than his back did. Fuller whistled low.

  As if trying to offer comfort, Ariel kept smoothing his shoulder. She stayed so close to him, Sam could smell her sweet soft scent. Then she whispered, "Yeah, I love you."

  Sam's eyes closed. "I suppose that's only fair."

  "What does that mean?"

  But Sam couldn't do anything other than concentrate on not passing out like a girl. The ambulance raced onto the scene. Paramedics swarmed around him, gently moving Ariel aside and working efficie
ntly over both him and the man he'd struck in the knee.

  Within moments, they helped Sam to his feet. He saw Ariel wringing her hands and he whispered, "Come to the hospital with me. We need to talk."

  "Sam…"

  "Fuller, make sure she—"

  Ariel huffed. "I'll be there, all right?"

  Both Sam and Fuller smiled at her worried, waspish tone. Then he was inside the ambulance and they shut the doors and Sam couldn't see her anymore. He let out a long shuddering groan of intense pain.

  It had been a real bitch holding it in.

  * * *

  Ariel waited with a crowd of Sam's family in the emergency room. They'd been notified by Fuller, who'd stopped in to see that Sam would be all right before getting back to his shift. The family had shown up minutes later, rushing in like a small battalion.

  The nurse had promised them all that it was a mere flesh wound. Yes it required numerous stitches, would indeed leave a scar, but he really, truly was fine. She'd even smiled, bobbed her eyebrows, and stressed the word fine, when she said it, making Ariel want to smack her. They were stitching him up and he'd be ready in no time.

  And then what? Ariel wondered.

  Pete continually paced, but then Pete was young enough and energetic enough that he seldom managed to be still anyway, even when he wasn't worried.

  Gil sprawled in a chair sipping a cup of coffee and staring blankly off into space. Ariel assumed his mind might be divided between thoughts of his brother and his new responsibilities as a parent.

  Sam's mother, Belinda, sat beside Ariel, pretending to read a mystery novel while fretting nervously.

  Ariel put her head in her hands.

  "He really is okay," Belinda said to her. She patted Ariel's knee, and Ariel could hear the amusement in her tone—a tone so like Sam's. Apparently, it wasn't only his mother's bright blue eyes that Sam had inherited.

  Ariel nodded, but didn't uncover her face. She felt exposed, sitting with all these people who now, thanks to Pete, knew she was in love with Sam.

  Gil had amazed her, giving her a big hug and saying, "Fate is the damndest thing, isn't it?" Ariel wasn't certain if he meant her predicament in loving his brother, or his current state of fatherhood.